


Force of Habit

by aphelion_orion



Category: Lamento -BEYOND THE VOID-
Genre: Afterlife, Devil, Gen, world-building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-10
Updated: 2011-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-14 15:45:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphelion_orion/pseuds/aphelion_orion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaltz tries to adjust. Quasi-sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/150888">Hierarchy</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Force of Habit

It is quite interesting how some habits tend to stay with a person; indeed, how they refuse to leave one's consciousness, like echoes, fragments of a half-forgotten melody; how they, in a true sense, _persevere_ , stubbornly hovering at the back of one's mind despite all attempts to rid oneself of them, and how they lie low only to leap into action in an unguarded moment.

It is also quite annoying, when one wants to twitch one's ears only to find one cannot, wants to bristle only to remember that there is no fur to obey one's command, wraps one's tail around one's body in sleep, despite the fact that it is sleek black and cold.

It is paradoxical. Razel would revel in it.

Kaltz finds small comfort in the fact that he has at least gained control over some reactions in public, after that rather embarrassing faux pas when he first followed Razel's invitation for tea. He admits that he was uneasy at the time, suspicious of the other devil's motivations, all too aware of the fact that he was walking into his den, his territory. And, as much as he hates to say it, he was intimidated at the sheer size of the gaping entrance, carved into a vertical rock wall and supported by giant pillars, surrounded by whirling flames, and the vastness of the halls within.

So when he was finally seated in one of the strange chairs—he has never gotten around to asking just why Razel has chairs decorated with stylized _heads_ , but he suspects that this is one of the things Razel would decline to answer—Kaltz started lapping at the offered tea, never realizing what he was doing until he noticed the curious silence of his host, and glanced up to see the unabashed fascination and amusement gleaming in his eyes.

He felt, quite literally, like dying from mortification, and now finds a measure of amusement in this turn of phrase, a devil being what he is. Kaltz suspects that this is Razel's love for word play rubbing off on him.

"Isn't it strange," Razel said later, eyes half-lidded in contemplation, "how certain aspects tend to linger?"

At the time, Kaltz merely nodded and did not ask for clarification, but he still has the feeling that the question was as much about him as it was about Razel himself. It certainly made him pay more attention, and with time, caused him to notice certain things, small and insignificant—the peculiar smell in Razel's halls, the faint, sharp scent of spices he cannot name, or the way he walks, his gait too sure, too practiced, to come from mere pride. And of course, the tea itself, pale green, its taste foreign, tangy and almost overbearingly sweet.

Devils do not need to drink, anymore than they need to eat.

Razel explained to him, in one of his more philosophical moments, that everything here was as much real as it is not real, the world they were all residing in something not-quite physical, molding itself around remnants of memories and desires. Kaltz is not certain whether he understood it entirely, and finds it easier to accept the paradoxicalities of this world without thinking on them too much.

"Give it time," Razel said tolerantly. "Once you have been here two or three-thousand years, a lot of things suddenly start making sense."

This, of course, is a disconcerting concept in its own, but again, it helps not to dwell. Indeed, for all the time he spends in Razel's company, he is content to sit and listen, sipping the overly sweet tea while Razel extols his thoughts on some subject or another. Sometimes, Razel asks for his opinion, sometimes Kaltz feels inclined to give it, and sometimes, the subject intrigues him enough that he allows himself to be pulled into a conversation.

Most of the time, however, he stays silent.

He was never much of a scholar, was more a spy, a fighter, a _lover_ , but he does not mind listening, as much as Razel does not mind his silences.

Kaltz discovered, early in life, that something peculiar happens when one leaves people to silence. Some start fidgeting and shifting, anxious to resume a conversation, while others start babbling, words tumbling over words in their haste to fill the lull in conversation, revealing things they never intended to reveal. Razel, however, does neither, as comfortable with silence as he is with speech, and sometimes, Kaltz wonders if there is anything capable of unsettling him at all.

Verg hates silence.

He hates silence in general, as indicated by the amount of noise he produces in order to make his presence known, and Kaltz's silence in particular—although Kaltz readily admits that the silence he uses for Verg is a different one. With Verg, his silence is a statement, a clear indicator that he is ignoring him, and Kaltz finds it strangely satisfying to know that if he does not react to any of Verg's taunts, the other devil will virtually explode with snarls and insults.

"Fascinating, how you can get him to do that," Razel remarked one day to the sounds of things being forcibly dislodged from their proper places, "I've never been able to provoke him unless he was already in the mood."

Kaltz arched an eyebrow at that bit of information, faintly puzzled, but not displeased.

As a cat, he found Verg intimidating, now he merely finds him annoying. It is a small triumph in the face of Verg's near-constant harassment, to deny him the reaction that he so craves, for whatever reason.

"He's got himself a new toy," Razel said at one point, partly indulgent, partly exasperated. "But he's trainable. He'll get the hint after a few hundred years."

Kaltz is not sure anymore whether or not he chose to dignify that with an answer, but he has since found out that a couple of strategically aimed icicles have helped to speed up Verg's learning process. It turns out that even devils are rather protective of certain areas.

At least now, Verg knows better than to attempt any downright physical harassment, though that does not prevent him from getting up into Kaltz's personal space, until Kaltz would have to tilt back his head to be able to look him in the eye. He never bothers to, does not feel like giving Verg the satisfaction.

He does not know why Verg never seems to pester Razel in the same manner. It might have something to do with the fact that Verg knew the power he had over him as a cat, and Kaltz might be inclined to feel irked at not being taken seriously if he cared about things like hierarchy and power displays at all.

"But _he_ cares about them," Razel said once, and Kaltz glanced at him in mild curiosity, lips poised at the rim of his cup.

"And he can't understand why you don't care," Razel continued, "Which, by the way, I do not claim to understand either, but... I consider myself above such childish methods of inquiry. It annoys him. It amuses me."

"Heh," Kaltz said softly, lowering the cup and eyeing Razel thoughtfully. "Who was it who said to accept what you don't understand?"

"That is the way of another world," Razel pointed out, and Kaltz knew then that he meant Sisa. "This place would become boring quite quickly if any of us did that. My ways of trying to obtain answers are just different from his."

A wolfish smile spread across Razel's lips at those words, and Kaltz allowed the faintest change of expression to show, a narrowing of eyes and a minute twisting of his mouth. It was always good to be reminded of the fact that Razel, for all his politeness and refinement, was as much a devil as the brute who was the subject of their discussion.

The moment passed, and Razel's smile melted back into a face of calm amusement. "You don't give him what he wants. That interests him. _You_ interest him."

"And you don't?"

For some reason, that was the most hilarious thing Razel had heard in a while, because he laughed loudly. "Hah. Verg has a certain... preference for kittens."

He continued smirking when Kaltz politely declined further details on the subject, and made a note to keep his guard up even further, lest one of his habits become the object of the fantasies of a _letch_.

He has never thought about paying attention to find out if Verg has any habits he cannot seem to let go. It might be good, to know one's opponent, except that Kaltz really does not want to waste his time observing him. It would only give Verg ideas, after all.

\----

The flower in his hand was thin and translucent, so delicate it would have melted if not for him willing it to keep its shape. At a thought, the ice began to move again, shifting to form tiny stems, the crystals merging at the tips to become the fragile leaves, just about to unfurl.

Once finished, Kaltz held it up to catch the white-blue light refracting from all corners of the ice dome, inspecting his handiwork.

He had always been interested in fine-tuning his powers, but sculpting like this was something he had taken up only recently. It was a way to pass the time, and he found it strangely soothing, something that required no thought, only perfect concentration.

Drawing his eyebrows together, the ice started shifting once more, the paper-thin petals of the bud slowly, but steadily opening, fanning out one… by one… by one…

Without warning, a blinding flash of yellow light filled the room, and Kaltz could feel the flower shatter in his hand even as he turned, a snap of his fingers sending three ice spears hurtling through the air at the intruder.

The icicles impacted with a loud crash, drowning out the string of obscenities from the trespasser, fine splinters raining in all directions.

"Ow, fuck!" Verg declared once the ice dust settled, more a complaint for the sake of complaining since the fine cuts on his face and chest were already beginning to close. "What kind of a welcome is that?!"

Suddenly, Kaltz found himself regretting not having aimed to hit. No devil would dare intrude upon another's dwelling without an invitation, much less have the gall to teleport right into the inner sanctum. It was an unspoken agreement between all of them, or at least, it had been until the imbecile had so blatantly violated it. Kaltz was willing to ignore a lot of things, but to have his personal _retreat_ disregarded like that…

He drew his rapier, pointing it at Verg. "I trust you are aware of where you are. Leave now, and I might consider leaving your limbs partially intact."

It only took a moment for Verg's almost comical expression of surprise to melt into a feral grin.

"What's that? The kitten showing his claws?" he taunted, his grin only growing wider when Kaltz's eyes narrowed. "And here I was worrying you had forgotten how to! Though I've got to say…" And here, his expression turned positively lecherous, "That looked a lot better on you when you still had your fur."

He pointed to Kaltz's stiff tail, which was trying to bristle against his better judgment. "I'll miss being able to make you frizz."

Kaltz lifted his hand, ice crystals swirling threateningly around his arm, but Verg appeared unconcerned.

"As much as I'd love to duke this out right here and now, I've got bigger fish to fry." The grin faded from his face as if it had never been. "We've got company. Green. Spiky. Pretty unstable. Babbling about white kittens. Razel thought you might know what he's on about."

Kaltz gave him a long, measuring stare, before slowly lowering his arm and sheathing his weapon.

"Don't even dare consider yourself off the hook," he warned, his voice sharp and clear as ice. Then, he turned on his heel, stalking towards the exit without waiting to see if the other would follow.

Verg remained for a moment, surveying the icicles embedded in the ground and the scattered rubble, a smirk returning to his lips.

"Heh, now you're talking, kitten. Now you're talking."

\- Fin -

\----

 **A/N:** Much fanwank went into this, admittedly. I refuse to believe that the devils dwell in the black space we're shown in the game, where their flames congregate. Boring. Anyway, C &C is much appreciated.


End file.
